Read Online The King's Man by Alison Stuart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alison Stuart
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forsaken walls.
* * * *
A fitful ray of sunlight struggled through the foetid London air, penetrating the warm, panelled room and briefly illuminating the large, oaken table. John Thurloe, dressed in a plain suit of subdued cloth, relieved only by falling bands of finest white linen, looked up from perusing the scattered papers before him. He set down his pen and, leaning his elbows on the table, placed the tips of his fingers together and considered his visitor.
"Captain Lovell. I trust you are well?"
Kit gave the Secretary of State the benefit of a flourishing bow. Without waiting for an invitation he seated himself in one of the solid, oak chairs facing the table.
"Tolerably well, Master Thurloe. The hostelry is overrun with bed bugs and lice and the rats are a truly incredible size. The food is execrable but my day is much improved for seeing you of course."
Thurloe sighed. “Spare me the charm, Lovell. You know it's wasted on me."
Kit casually flicked at a piece of imaginary lint on his sleeve, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle. The gesture was purely an affectation. The sleeve of his jacket, like the rest of his attire and indeed he himself, after a week's incarceration, was very much the worse for wear. Unshaven, soiled and stained and carrying the unmistakable stench of prison, Kit was far from his sartorial best. Thurloe's long nose wrinkled in distaste.
Kit caught the gesture. “I pray your pardon for my appearance, Thurloe but as you are well aware the accommodation has afforded me few luxuries."
"Indeed but then it was not intended to,” agreed Thurloe.
Kit raised a hand to a livid bruise on his right cheekbone. “Was this strictly necessary?"
Thurloe shrugged. “Adds a degree of authenticity. I trust Sergeant Harris was not too rough on you?"
Kit glared at the Secretary of State. “I am lucky he did not break bone."
"How are your fellow captives?"
Kit shrugged. “Surprised that their idiotic plan was discovered."
"And who do they suspect of betraying them?"
Kit shook his head. “The suspects abound. Roger Cotes now seems to be the principal object of their blame. Never one to be trusted was Roger. Shifty eyes."
Thurloe smiled. “Not you?"
"Never me, Thurloe.” Kit's finger traced the carving on the arm of the chair. He looked up and met Thurloe's eye. “What do you intend to do with them?"
Thurloe's long fingers drummed the table. “They're a sorry enough crew. Very quick to talk and there are titbits of information I find quite intriguing. As for the plot itself?” He shrugged. “Pathetic and impossible to achieve. Laughable.” He shook his head. “When all is considered, there is precious little evidence to hold them on. To be honest I doubt that they will see trial. We'll hold them long enough to make them think twice about entering into conspiracies and then let them go again."
"What about me?"
"Well, I can hardly let you go without attracting some sort of suspicion."
Kit narrowed his eyes. “You enjoy this, don't you? You're like a cat playing with a mouse. You allow me so much freedom and then haul me back in. Is that why you've waited so long to see me?"
"I wouldn't want you to be in any doubt about your position, Captain Lovell. If you don't care for the life I allow you, there is always an alternative!” Thurloe leaned forward. “Now pay your dues! What do you know about a committee sanctioned by Charles Stuart?"
Long practice prevented Kit's face from betraying his surprise. His eyes widened. “A committee?"
Thurloe sat back in his chair. “Don't play the innocent with me, Lovell. Do I need to remind you of the reason you work for me?"
Kit's mouth tightened and he leaned forward. “Thurloe, our arrangement is at an end. I gave you the girl. I have given you Dutton and the others. You cannot ask any more of me."
"An overwrought woman and a pack of fools? Hardly the stuff to unsettle the Commonwealth,” Thurloe sneered. “And in the meantime you
* * * *
A fitful ray of sunlight struggled through the foetid London air, penetrating the warm, panelled room and briefly illuminating the large, oaken table. John Thurloe, dressed in a plain suit of subdued cloth, relieved only by falling bands of finest white linen, looked up from perusing the scattered papers before him. He set down his pen and, leaning his elbows on the table, placed the tips of his fingers together and considered his visitor.
"Captain Lovell. I trust you are well?"
Kit gave the Secretary of State the benefit of a flourishing bow. Without waiting for an invitation he seated himself in one of the solid, oak chairs facing the table.
"Tolerably well, Master Thurloe. The hostelry is overrun with bed bugs and lice and the rats are a truly incredible size. The food is execrable but my day is much improved for seeing you of course."
Thurloe sighed. “Spare me the charm, Lovell. You know it's wasted on me."
Kit casually flicked at a piece of imaginary lint on his sleeve, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle. The gesture was purely an affectation. The sleeve of his jacket, like the rest of his attire and indeed he himself, after a week's incarceration, was very much the worse for wear. Unshaven, soiled and stained and carrying the unmistakable stench of prison, Kit was far from his sartorial best. Thurloe's long nose wrinkled in distaste.
Kit caught the gesture. “I pray your pardon for my appearance, Thurloe but as you are well aware the accommodation has afforded me few luxuries."
"Indeed but then it was not intended to,” agreed Thurloe.
Kit raised a hand to a livid bruise on his right cheekbone. “Was this strictly necessary?"
Thurloe shrugged. “Adds a degree of authenticity. I trust Sergeant Harris was not too rough on you?"
Kit glared at the Secretary of State. “I am lucky he did not break bone."
"How are your fellow captives?"
Kit shrugged. “Surprised that their idiotic plan was discovered."
"And who do they suspect of betraying them?"
Kit shook his head. “The suspects abound. Roger Cotes now seems to be the principal object of their blame. Never one to be trusted was Roger. Shifty eyes."
Thurloe smiled. “Not you?"
"Never me, Thurloe.” Kit's finger traced the carving on the arm of the chair. He looked up and met Thurloe's eye. “What do you intend to do with them?"
Thurloe's long fingers drummed the table. “They're a sorry enough crew. Very quick to talk and there are titbits of information I find quite intriguing. As for the plot itself?” He shrugged. “Pathetic and impossible to achieve. Laughable.” He shook his head. “When all is considered, there is precious little evidence to hold them on. To be honest I doubt that they will see trial. We'll hold them long enough to make them think twice about entering into conspiracies and then let them go again."
"What about me?"
"Well, I can hardly let you go without attracting some sort of suspicion."
Kit narrowed his eyes. “You enjoy this, don't you? You're like a cat playing with a mouse. You allow me so much freedom and then haul me back in. Is that why you've waited so long to see me?"
"I wouldn't want you to be in any doubt about your position, Captain Lovell. If you don't care for the life I allow you, there is always an alternative!” Thurloe leaned forward. “Now pay your dues! What do you know about a committee sanctioned by Charles Stuart?"
Long practice prevented Kit's face from betraying his surprise. His eyes widened. “A committee?"
Thurloe sat back in his chair. “Don't play the innocent with me, Lovell. Do I need to remind you of the reason you work for me?"
Kit's mouth tightened and he leaned forward. “Thurloe, our arrangement is at an end. I gave you the girl. I have given you Dutton and the others. You cannot ask any more of me."
"An overwrought woman and a pack of fools? Hardly the stuff to unsettle the Commonwealth,” Thurloe sneered. “And in the meantime you
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